Turning Fourteen
by TheNextFolchart
Summary: "It's your birthday?" Pansy Parkinson asked from across the table. Crabbe nodded glumly. "Fourteenth." /Written for challenges on HPFC


**Turning Fourteen**

_[On This Day Competition: Day - April 26th; Characters - Hedwig, Vincent Crabbe; Genre - hurt/comfort; Prompts - auto, wide, idolize__]_

_[Book Thief Competition: __"He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It's his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry."]_

_[Disney Character Competition: Donald Duck - write about someone's birthday. Alternatively, write about Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Prompt: apple]_

_[Duct Tape Challenge: White Zebra: Write about someone who usually fades into the background]_

_[Oh The Thinks You Can Think Challenge: Gertrude McFuzz - write about someone who generally fades into the background.]_

_[Interesting Words Challenge: Naz - the pride that comes from knowing that you are loved no matter what you do]_

_[Off The Block Competition: Breaststroke, Easy - Write about a set of twins]_

_[Legendary Gods & Goddesses Challenge: Kebechet - write about someone who is wandering.]_

_[Fan-Fiction Terms Category Competition: Troll - write about someone who isn't very smart]_

* * *

"Draco," Vincent Crabbe said on their way down to breakfast. "D'you know what day it is today?"

"It's Monday, Vincent. For the last time, Monday always comes after Sunday."

"No," Crabbe explained. "I meant the date."

"April 26th, isn't it?"

"Yes," Crabbe said patiently. "And what important event falls on this date?"

Malfoy let out an exasperated sigh. "I dunno, Crabbe, the day you finally learn to pace yourself at breakfast so you don't get a stomachache during Charms?" He grabbed an apple off the table, took one bite of it, and then set it in the breast pocket of Crabbe's robes. "I'll see you in class."

"Bye," Crabbe said, a little crestfallen. He pulled the apple out of his pocket and set it gently on the table, bite facing away from him so he didn't have to look at Draco's tooth marks. He used to idolize Draco - they'd been friends since they were young, after all, and Draco had the most charisma of any of the pureblood children with whom he'd socialized. How could anyone _not _worship him?

But lately Draco wasn't so kind anymore. Every word he said seemed to step all over Crabbe, bruising his feelings, cutting down his self-esteem. And even though Crabbe didn't break down - had never broken down, even as a child - he sometimes wondered whether Draco was trying to make him cry. "The 26th is my birthday," Crabbe muttered to Draco's empty seat, and then he helped himself to another scoop of porridge.

"It's your birthday?" Pansy Parkinson asked from across the table.

Crabbe nodded glumly. "Fourteenth."

"Oh. My fourteenth was last month." And she went back to her breakfast.

Crabbe noticed she hadn't said happy birthday, or offered him a card, or conjured him a cake (which was all he really wanted anyway), but he said nothing.

* * *

When he got to Charms, Goyle was already sitting next to Draco. Crabbe opted to take a seat by himself in the back of the classroom. He took out his quill and began to etch the lyrics to Happy Birthday into the wood.

"Happy birthday to me," he mumbled under his breath, drawing a wide circle - that was meant to represent a cake - and adding fourteen lines - candles - to the top. In spite of the massive breakfast he'd consumed an hour earlier, his stomach growled. Licking his lips, Crabbe drew another, wider cake, and scratched his name in the center.

"Stop that," Hermione Granger hissed from the row ahead of him. "The noise is interfering with my concentration."

Crabbe sighed and put down his quill. "Mind your own business, eh?" he whispered back loudly, but he didn't resume his sketching.

"Forgive me for butting in," she snapped. "Vandalism is a crime, you know."

"I can fix it," he said, pulling out his wand. "_Reparo._"

Nothing happened.

He muttered a curse word, and Hermione, with a glance at Flitwick, turned in her seat. "Would you _please - _" She stopped as she caught sight of his drawings. "Is it your birthday?"

He nodded.

"Your fourteenth?"

He gaped at her. "How did you _know_?"

She looked at him funny. "You're a third year, so you were thirteen when term began."

"And fourteen comes after thirteen," finished Crabbe with a knowing nod. "Brilliant."

Hermione tapped the desk with her wand, and his graffiti disappeared. "Did you get anything good, then?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Not even from your parents?"

"No."

"That's a shame. My parents never send gifts, either. But that's because they're saving up; for my eighteenth they've promised to get me an auto."

"An auto?" Crabbe scoffed. "What d'you want an automobile for?"

She looked surprised. "Well - to drive, of course."

"Just Apparate, eh? Or Floo." He snorted and began to scratch into his desk again, muttering, "Auto," under his breath.

Her face turned red. "Happy birthday, then," she snapped, and she turned around to face the front.

Crabbe, against his will, smiled.

(She was the first one to wish him a happy birthday all day.)

* * *

Crabbe was wandering the halls after Charms, trying to avoid Draco, when he heard the singing.

"_Happy birthday to you!"_

He followed the sound to an empty classroom.

"_Happy birthday to you!"_

He poked his head inside.

"_Happy birthday dear ParvatiandPadma,_" sang the Weasley twins. "_Happy birthday to you!"_

Parvati Patil and her twin sister Padma both squealed in delight as a series of small firecrackers exploded above their heads and spelled out _HAPPY BIRTHDAY FELLOW TWINS _in purple sparks.

"Thank you so much," Parvati said, leaning forward to hug Fred. "It was sweet of you to remember."

"We would never forget a birthday," said George. "We'll take any opportunity to set off fireworks."

"Plus we just finished the fireworks last week," Fred added, "and you two had the closest birthday."

"Well you did a lovely job," Padma said, kissing George on the cheek. "They were spectacular. Thank you."

"It's my birthday, too," Crabbe muttered, but the sets of twins were too busy fawning over the fireworks to notice him, so he closed the door quietly and went back to wandering.

* * *

"Incoming," called Draco at dinner. Crabbe looked up to see him pointing at a snowy owl. "Look, Potter's owl is lost."

The owl landed in front of Crabbe, of all people, and stuck out her leg.

"I'm not Potter," Crabbe told the owl. "He's there." He pointed at the Ravenclaw table.

"He's _there_," Draco corrected, grabbing Crabbe's wrist and redirecting his finger toward the Gryffindor table. "He's the one in red, Crabbe."

But the owl didn't move, just hooted and made a little hop toward Crabbe.

"For me?" Crabbe asked. The owl hooted again. Crabbe reached out with wide, clumsy fingers and untied the parcel from the bird's leg. "Thanks," he said, and the owl took off.

"What is it?" Draco made to snatch the parcel from Crabbe's hand. "A dung bomb? A howler?"

"It's just a note." Crabbe pulled it out and unfolded it. "'Dear Vincent, I hope you have a very happy birthday. Fourteen is an impressive age. I've borrowed Harry's owl Hedwig to deliver your birthday present, as I expect to be busy in the library all evening and I don't know if I'll see you to give it to you personally. Enclosed is your gift - an auto of your very own.'"

He paused to rip open the parcel. Inside was a tiny replica of an automobile. When he set it on the table, it made a high-pitched _honk _as if someone had squeezed its tiny horn, and then it began to drive on its own, weaving around goblets and between plates.

"'I hope you enjoy it, even if it isn't as useful as Apparation or Floo powder, and I hope you have an excellent birthday. Love from, Hermione.'"

Draco snorted. "_Granger_? Merlin, Crabbe, have you got a secret girlfriend?"

He felt his face redden. "No," he said, and he made his meaty hand into a fist and smashed the tiny automobile as hard as he could. It lay in pieces on the table, and he swept them onto the floor and crushed them under his foot. "I don't even _know _her."

"I can't believe she thought it was your birthday," Draco said, rereading her note and smirking.

"Yeah," said Crabbe, and then, "wait, what?"

"It's April 26th," Draco said. "We went over that this morning, remember?"

"Yes."

"Your birthday is the 27th, Crabbe." Draco sighed and folded up Hermione's note. "Stupid Mudblood doesn't know as much as she thinks she does, eh?"

"Right." Crabbe took Hermione's note and pretended to tear it up, but when Draco wasn't looking he slipped it into his pocket. There was an odd sense of pride that came with knowing someone cared about him a little, even if he'd been rude, even if he'd made fun of her. "Stupid Mudblood."

(But secretly, he thought maybe he'd found someone a little more worthy to idolize.)


End file.
